


Drunken Admissions

by shalydin



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Coming Out, Getting Together, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, basically theyre soft and im soft so heres this mess LMAO, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24749077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shalydin/pseuds/shalydin
Summary: Richie was seventeen when he went to his first--and last-- high school party. He remembers what happened that night better than he remembers his grand killer clown adventure, which was.. telling.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 56





	Drunken Admissions

**Author's Note:**

> After reading the It book, I had to make something for these two.. They're just so sweet ;-; Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated!!

Richie was seventeen when he went to his first--and last-- high school party. He remembers what happened that night better than he remembers his grand killer clown adventure, which was.. telling.

At the time, the Losers were still a group— a strong one, at that— and Richie was thankful for it. He was home less and less lately, deliberately, and the more he didn’t have to think about why, the better. Normalcy wasn’t present much, but he found it with the Losers. With Beverly and her cigarettes, Stan and his binoculars, Mike and his warm smile, Ben with his will of steel, Bill with his words, and Eddie. Oh, Eddie. He didn’t know where to start.

But that wasn’t the point, not now. The point was that Bev had finally snagged them an invitation to a party, hosted by some girl at their school that Bev talked to and they didn’t. Richie was waiting for an opportunity like this for ages. His parents were responsible folks— never drank much, not at home at least-- and because of this, the only exposure his seventeen year old self had gotten to alcohol came from Bev, who never liked sharing too much. He liked the feeling of alcohol, the tingle it leaves in your throat, the warmth it leaves in your chest. And yet again, it’s another distraction. So sure, he could mingle at this party, make no name for himself, hide behind his new glasses and push back his hair like he was someone else, if he really wanted. But that also wasn’t the point. He just wanted to get wasted, fast and easy.

Bev was surprised when Eddie said he wanted to tag along too. The rest of them had already politely declined, each for their own separate reasons, and out of all of them the last one they expected to want to go was Eddie. Richie almost fell over when she told him— little Eddie Spaghetti, at a _party? _— but he was looking forward to it even more, now. Holy shit. Even if he was a drunk mess, he knew Eddie would be worse. If he could get him to drink, that is. But he already knew he’d do it somehow. Eddie listened to him a lot, for reasons Richie didn’t quite know himself. He didn’t normally abuse it, but... C’mon. This was too good.__

____

The party was on a Saturday. cliche, but it worked out— Eddie could get permission to go out then, easy, and after picking up Bev from her mom’s Richie could drive them all over in his shitty truck. He’d park a little far from the house, just to save his windows from getting smashed, and they’d walk around the block to get there. It was fun to plan it all out, first in his head, and then with the two of them on the phone, lucky for the fact that Eddie's house only had one landline. After Bev agreed to what he suggested, she hung up, busy with something as usual. And that left the two of them, Eddie, deliberately quiet, and him, filling the silence. It’s how they normally operated.

____

“Hey, Richie,” Eddie interrupts, voice a little quiet, but less nervous as it used to be on the phone. “After we meet at Bev’s for the project, could I stay over at your house?”

____

It took Richie's thick skull a second to figure out what the hell he was saying, but he wasn’t that dense. “My house? Oh, Eddie, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

____

“C’mon, man. Not right now.” He sighs. “Please?”

____

Richie had already said yes in his head as soon as he understood the question. He smiled into the receiver like Eddie could see it, knowing that if he could, he’d get a similar expression in response, one that was a little smaller, yet just as loud.

____

“It’d be my pleasure,” He says, snarky, and Eddie hangs up with a firm beep. For a reason unknown to himself, his chest feels light.

____

—

____

Saturday was ages away for a while, until it was Saturday, and Richie almost shit himself looking at the calendar. He felt like a girl, when it was time to get ready— what should he wear? Does it matter? Should he leave his hair as is, or try something stupid? He laughed at himself for a while, and settled on something simple, something he wouldn’t mind puking all over. It's a pair of old jeans, a t- shirt, and a flannel that's pilled more than his baby blanket, but it works. It looks like him. Not that anyone knows who that ‘him’ is, anyway, besides the Losers and anyone there who’s seen him make a fool of himself by nearly drinking every chemical in chemistry class, but he still felt... good. His parents were out that night, visiting an aunt, or an uncle, something that he didn’t pay attention to, and that worked for him. He'd just have to shower and brush the alcohol out of him and he’d be brand new, like nothing even happened.

____

Oh, and Eddie. Yeah. Eddie. He picks up his room a little bit, despite never really having done so in 5 years, and still feels nervous about it. He is a teenage girl, after all, and he laughs about it again as he grabs his keys and heads out to drop by Eddie's.

____

The ride is quiet, despite the cassette he has playing the whole way there and his rickety engine growling at him as a rigid backbeat. He hates quiet, quite a lot— it leaves him to think, which was even quieter, harsh and attacking. He drives a little faster than he should, a little less safe than he usually goes for, but if it gets him to Eddie faster, it’s fine. Anything to disrupt the goddamn quiet.

____

Eddie appears from the fence surrounding his house, crouched down like he just committed a crime, with a small duffel bag in hand. A change of clothes, Richie guessed, which was smart. Probably aspirin too, which in this case, was also smart. It would be funnier if he could put him in one of his shirts, though, one of the ones his parents hate that says something vulgar or ridiculous. He's already smiling when Eddie gets to the window, wide and mischievous, and anything he’d felt on the drive dissipates. It wasn’t fair, how Eddie could just do that. Show up and make it all better, without doing a goddamn thing. Richie smiles wider, claps Eddie on the shoulder, and puts his hands back on the wheel. 

____

“You ready for your first party, Eds?” He asks, pulling back onto the road, looking in his mirrors. Eddie tries to put his seatbelt on, but frowns when he sees that the buckle doesn’t click like it should.

____

“Don’t call me Eds, please.” He tries again, and fails. “I know you said this truck was junk, but seriously? Not even a seatbelt?”

____

Richie fakes a gasp. “Don’t insult my girl like that! She’s doing her best.” He pats the dashboard. “And I'm practically the best driver in Derry. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

____

He doesn’t need to look to know Eddie is worrying anyway. He expects to get asked to turn around, to drop him back off so he can bail, but all he does is grab the ledge on the door and look at the road, stare a little empty. Richie knows better than to ask. They get to Bev's place before they know it, and she sits between them, on the middle seat of the truck that doesn’t really count, but also does.

____

“You’re in for the night of your life, boys,” She starts, fumbling with the seatbelt like Eddie did. She smiles. “Been such a long time since I’ve ridden in here that I forgot those don’t work. But, anyway— you excited?”

____

Richie thinks she asks for Eddie, which is the only reason she’d have to ask at all. He nods, biting his lip a little, and it wouldn’t take an expert to know that he’s nervous. Bev claps him on the shoulder, like he did earlier, and he smiles, but it’s unsure. Then she turns toward Richie, a little more hostile.

____

“I hope you know you’re not drinking much,” She starts, poking him in the cheek, “Because you’re a designated driver. And Eddie is precious cargo.”

____

“You don’t need a ride back?” Richie asks, ignoring the first part. “How will my dear Cinderella get home before midnight?”

____

“Fuck off,” She laughs. “I’m staying at her house. I _am _actually friends with this girl, you know.”__

______ _ _

“That’s a little hard to believe.”

______ _ _

She punches him, but it’s playful. Eddie snickers.

______ _ _

“Seriously, though. Am I gonna have to make you pinky promise, Richard?”

______ _ _

Richie cringes at the name ‘Richard,’ and Bev laughs. Eddie does too, but it’s quieter, harder to pick out. He gives her a thumbs up, and frowns, because he was dying to get wasted. But he knew Beverly was right, so he’d limit himself. One or two drinks at best. Maybe three. But not four. Three and a half, however...

______ _ _

“Left turn up here, Richie,” Bev says, still smiling. His blinker goes on without protest, thank god. “Then head straight. Her house should have purple shutters.”

______ _ _

He listens, drives with the hum of his engine buzzing in his ears, and nearly smiles ear to ear when he passes the house. He parks on the street nearby-- not too close, but also not too far. They talk about nothing while they walk there, Bev in the front and him and Eddie behind, and although he can’t get blackout drunk, Richie was still excited. It'd be more fun to watch a drunk Eddie somewhat sober, anyway. He scuffs the back of his sneakers on the pavement, looks at the house, already crowded with people, then up at the stars. Then he looks at Eddie, who is for some reason looking at him, and slings his arm around his shoulders, enjoying the way he rolls his eyes and looks away but doesn’t try to get out of it.

______ _ _

As soon as they’re in the front door, Richie knows he loves it. Bev splits off with a wave to talk to her friend, and Eddie sticks close, almost up against his back. It’s not like there was much room anyway— the rooms were packed, and Richie knew this, because he was a little taller than most of them. When he made eye contact with the signature stack of red solo cups he took Eddie's hand and wiggled him through the crowd, determination in his veins. This was it. the free booze he’d been looking for.

______ _ _

“This your first drink, Eds?” He has to yell it over the music, but everyone’s kind of yelling, so it doesn’t matter. He fills the cup with whatever the hell everyone else has in hand, some sort of punch with an artificial red color and an unsettling smell of cheap vodka. He hands Eddie a cup, then makes one for himself, already deciding that one might be enough to make him tipsy.

______ _ _

“No, actually,” Eddie replies, drinking it straight faced. He looks down at the cup, like he’s disappointed, but sips again anyway. “This tastes like ass, but I've had worse.”

______ _ _

Richie raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t ask. So much for getting Eddie wasted-- he must already know his own limit. Taking a sip himself he’s unsurprised to find that it’s strong, almost disgustingly so, but nonetheless he drinks it down like tap water. Eddie looks at him, watches him drink like he’s curious, but keeps his gaze regular, as best he can. Richie still notices, and winks. Eddie frowns, then hides his face in his cup.

______ _ _

“Richie!” A voice calls him, one he doesn’t recognize. There's a hand on his arm a moment later, belonging to a girl whose name he doesn’t remember from one of his classes. Her face is distinct, though— she’s got big round eyes, like a puppy’s, and Richie knows damn well that she's popular amongst the guys. “I didn’t think you’d be here!”

______ _ _

She’s tugging him away less than a moment later. Richie looks at Eddie, who is already getting himself another drink, and then Eddie smiles at him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Richie lets himself get pulled, but he can’t stop thinking about Eddie, about how he isn’t used to this. But he didn’t seem nervous, not really— Richie knows Eddie when he’s nervous, knows the telltale signs and how to pick them out. But he didn’t see that, not tonight. So he lets himself go, get dragged into a conversation with people he doesn’t care about, and nurses the same drink. It isn’t even halfway empty by the time someone has to switch the music, and God knows how long that was.

______ _ _

They let him go after they go out for a smoke, and Richie declines. Eddie's in here somewhere, and it’d be unlike him to go far. He goes back to the drink table, through the so-called dance floor, then through the kitchen, and out the back. There’s a couple making out on the grass, and he turns away, knowing this _definitely _wouldn’t be Eddie’s scene. He walks back through the house, finds Bev, asks if she’s seen Eddie, and receives a prompt no. The girl she’s with smells like alcohol and perfume, and he leaves before it suffocates him. The only place to go is out on the front porch, which Richie didn’t even think to look at, but of course. Opening the front door feels like an omen.__

________ _ _ _ _

Eddie's there. He shouldn’t be surprised, not really— he knows for sure he checked everywhere else. Richie comes up beside him, their shoulder’s bumping, and is surprised to see a cigarette between Eddie's lips, lit and well puffed. He looks at it, then up at Eddie, then down at it again, like it isn’t real.

________ _ _ _ _

“Can I have a hit?” He asks instead, ears still adjusting to the relative quiet of the outdoors. Eddie passes it wordlessly, fingers almost immediately tangling in each other once they’re free, eyes looking out at the road like there’s nothing else for him to look at. Richie hands it back after sliding it between Eddie's pale fingers, lingering a little longer than he should. Like the girl that was talking to Bev, he smells like alcohol and perfume. And cigarette smoke, of course.

________ _ _ _ _

“You having a good time?” He asks, wrinkling his nose. “Didn’t take you for much of a mingler, but you seem to be doing just—“

________ _ _ _ _

“I’m gay, Richie.”

________ _ _ _ _

Richie blinks, watches the ash fall off the tip of the cigarette, looks at the curves of Eddie’s face like he’s never seen them before. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then thinks better of it, and takes the last swig of his one drink of the night. He crushes the cup and tosses it on the lawn, watching the red stand bright against the green, heart beating.

________ _ _ _ _

“Oh,” he says, finally. Eddie doesn’t react. “That’s good.”

________ _ _ _ _

And Eddie laughs. something big and dramatic, like Richie’s just told the best joke he’s ever heard. Richie smiles, but he’s still lost, and equally as concerned. Eddie eventually settles down, and takes one last hit of the cigarette before stomping it into the wood of the porch, wiping his eyes, and sighing. Richie notices his lips are red, different from when he picks at them, different than Richie’s ever seen before.

________ _ _ _ _

“I never knew until tonight.” Eddie looks as free as a bird, but his voice feels empty. “I made out with some girl, and nothing. I was thinking about getting another drink the whole time. I took the cigarette from her before coming out here.”

________ _ _ _ _

“Eddie-“ Richie starts, but Eddie keeps going.

________ _ _ _ _

“Isn’t that funny? C’mon Richie, laugh! You know it’s funny! I’m fucking pathetic, I know. God,” He says, but he’s losing himself fast. “I’m a fucking queer, Richie. Jesus Christ.”

________ _ _ _ _

The heels of Eddie's palms dig into his eyes, and Richie blinks again. One of the fingernails on Eddie's hand has been picked down so far that it bled, free and uncontrolled, down his finger, down his hand. Richie knows Eddie’s signs of anxiety. He knows them almost as well as he knows what prescription he needs for his glasses, almost as well as he knows which foot of his is a centimeter longer than the other. He takes Eddie's hand, the one that was bleeding, and Eddie looks at him, raw and open and unhinged.

________ _ _ _ _

“You wanna go home?”

________ _ _ _ _

Richie doesn’t know why he says home. It isn’t their home, it’s Richie’s, and hell, nowadays he doesn’t even love being there, but tonight, it’s home. Eddie looks at their hands, then looks at Richie, then sighs like he’s never been more tired in his life. The nod Richie gets as a response isn’t surprising in the slightest.

________ _ _ _ _

Eddie's hand doesn’t leave his until they get to the truck. The cool night air froze Richie’s skin into submission, and woke him up like he’d just slept a full eight hours. He didn’t feel the alcohol anymore. He opens the passenger door for Eddie, closes it real gentle after he gets in, then goes around the front of the car to the driver’s side, entering slow, like the truck wasn’t his own. When he looks over, Eddie is crying, silent tears that stream down his face like distant raindrops.

________ _ _ _ _

“Eds, I-“

________ _ _ _ _

“Don’t. Just... Don’t, Richie,” He says, and Richie nods, shaking his head up and down, brain humming like his engine when he starts the car up. He doesn’t know what time it is, but he doesn’t care.

________ _ _ _ _

He's driving them home.

________ _ _ _ _

It's even quieter on the way to Richie’s house, which is unsurprising. He counts each time Eddie wipes his eyes, which totals to about 13 by the time they reach the driveway, and thinks it’d be better if he weren’t to continue. His key slides into the front door lock with ease and familiarity, but nothing feels easy and familiar about Eddie’s sullen figure behind him, grip tight on his duffel bag. He locks the door behind him, tells Eddie to take his shoes off, then looks at the clock, which takes him a moment to read. Only a little after midnight, and yet it felt impossibly later than that, and simultaneously impossibly earlier.

________ _ _ _ _

“You wanna shower?” Richie asks Eddie, out of nowhere, once he takes his own shoes off. Eddie looks at him, says nothing, then looks at his bag. His eyes are red and puffy.

________ _ _ _ _

“Yeah, actually,” He says, like he’s suddenly aware of the fact that he smells like booze and smoke and shame and nothing else. “Yeah.”

________ _ _ _ _

Richie shows him the bathroom, makes sure he leaves the door unlocked, then makes it his own personal mission to drag the bare mattress from the spare room across from his down onto his bedroom floor. He does it like he’s being controlled by some external force, like he’s done it every day, like he understands why he’s doing it. He throws on a fitted sheet and a top sheet from the storage closet at the end of the hallway that smells like detergent and moth balls, and waits, changing into a new t-shirt and boxers and practically shoving his old clothes down into his hamper. He doesn’t remember the shower starting, but he hears it stop, and Richie waits, not knowing exactly what he’s waiting for.

________ _ _ _ _

Eddie looks exhausted when he makes his way into Richie’s doorway, more like a ghost than a human, and Richie avoids his gaze. He feels bad—not pitiful, but empathetic— and he knows Eddie knows, so he tries not to, but fails. He cares more about Eddie than he cares about anything. Yet he was powerless here, a bystander, unable to act on some pushing force that made him want to spring up on his two feet, walk over to Eddie, and do something. Anything.

________ _ _ _ _

But he just watched as Eddie crawled under the sheets of the bed he’d made for him, defeated like a scolded dog, and clenched his fists in his own comforter. He got up to shut the light off, footsteps quiet but feeling impossibly heavy, and by the time he managed to take his glasses off and get into his own bed he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon. He’d watch Eddie sleep, if he even could, and count the seconds, until the sun rose high enough to peek through his blinds and fill his dismal room with the energy of a new day, one that could drown out what lingered before it.

________ _ _ _ _

“Richie,” Eddie whispers out into the open a few minutes later, almost sounding like he did when they were ten. “Can I sleep with you?”

________ _ _ _ _

Of course he could. _Of course, anything for you, Eddie my dear, the love of my life, _Richie wanted to say, but he said nothing. He lifted the covers as an invitation, moved over, and there Eddie was, slotted next to him like he belonged there. And honest to God, Richie wouldn’t find it hard to believe if he did.__

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eddie didn’t look at him, but he clutched at his shirt like an anchor, and Richie understood. He covered Eddie with his blankets, gave him most of his pillow, tried not to look at him too much, but failed. Even at his lowest, Edward Kaspbrak was beautiful to him. 

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You alright?” Richie asks, gentle, so genuine it couldn’t be a part of one of his personalities if he tried.

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Sure,” Eddie responded, gripping his shirt tighter. “I'm right as rain, Rich.”

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eddie's breath smelled like mint, strong, fresh, almost overpowering. Like he brushed his teeth, drank a bottle of mouthwash, then chewed a breath mint afterwards. In a sudden move he wraps an arm around Eddie's shoulders, bringing him in closer, so that Eddie's forearms are up against his stomach and he can rest his hand on his back comfortably. Yet again, it felt right to him. Right as rain, maybe.

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You don’t have to do this,” Eddie says. Despite himself he seems to be aiming to bring them impossibly closer, which Richie finds adorable.

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

“What if I wanted to?” He asks, a little playful, poking Eddie's spine with his finger. Eddie jumps a little, but Richie doesn’t regret it, can feel the tension pouring out of him in waves.

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

They’re still for a moment, as if time had stopped. Richie finds the pace of Eddie's breath and follows it, the steady in and out, finding comfort in it. He feels like Eddie is doing the same.

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You’re too nice to me.” Eddie whispers into his chest. He sounds guilty about it, and Richie wishes he knew what he was thinking. 

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

He snorts instead, trying to lighten the mood. “I don't know about that one, Eds. If anything, you’re the one who’s too nice to me.”

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eddie backs up then, so he can look at him, forward and direct. Richie is suddenly aware of the length of his eyelashes, the gentle curve of his nose, the light remnants of a scar on his jaw from when he fell off his bike as a kid. He wants to do something, but he doesn’t know what. Eddie cups his face, thumbs resting gently on his cheekbones, and Richie stills, letting him do it. He wonders if he’s drunk— Richie knows he drank, but not to what extent. He seems more sober than anything, though.

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

“If I were in love with you, how would you react?”

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

Richie thinks about the hands on his cheeks, the body next to his, and his heart pounds. _Oh, nothing dramatic Eddie, I’d just have a heart attack and die, _he thinks, looking up at Eddie's eyes then down at his mouth and then up again. He blinks twice, opens his mouth, then shuts it again. Eddie smiles gently, and starts to move his hands away, but Richie finds that his own move to keep them there. Eddie's eyes widen, but he says nothing.__

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I'm, well..” He was starting to slip into a voice, but he switched out of it, painfully aware that he had to face this head on. “What if _I _am?”__

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eddie huffs, a smile on his face, more relaxed than he’s ever seen him all evening. “You’re an idiot, Richie,” He says, but he doesn’t really mean it, not all the way. The fondness gives him away.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

A silence falls over them then, but it isn’t uncomfortable. Richie accepts the warmth radiating in his personal space, welcomes it, cherishes it. His chest is full. Distantly, he wonders if he was looking at Eddie how Ben would look at Beverly, longing and obvious. He finds that even if he was, he didn’t care, because for some reason, he felt confident.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Can I kiss you?” Richie asks a moment later, despite himself. Before he can take it back, Eddie's lips are on his: soft, curious, exploratory. His chest explodes.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Oh,” He says then, wondering if this is what Eddie feels like when he needs his aspirator. “Oh.”

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eddie smiles at him, cheeks dusted with a soft pink that’s mostly hidden by the darkness of the room. Saying nothing, Richie lets the hands Eddie has on his face fall to wrap around his torso in a comfortable embrace. He rests his head on Eddie’s chin, leaving him to look at his wall and the stupid posters he has hung up there. He analyzes them as a distraction, and as what just happened sets in, he tries to stop himself from vibrating with excitement. Holy _shit._

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Wow, Eds,” He says in a moment of impulse and exhilaration, gliding one of his hands across the plane of Eddie's shoulders, “Your lips are _just _like your mom’s.”__

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eddie wiggles out of his arms with the urgency of a toddler who just touched the top of a hot stove for the first time, and flips over. Richie laughs, and Eddie flips him off, muttering a _‘beep beep, Richie’ _before covering himself in the majority of Richie's blankets. Despite most of his body now being uncovered, Richie feels indescribably warm— he makes a home for himself against Eddie, slotting behind him perfectly like a puzzle piece, and rests a hand delicately on his hip.__

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Eddie-“

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Go to bed, Richie.”

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Aw, but-“

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Sleep.”

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Richie pouts, but he’s still smiling behind it. He follows the rhythm of Eddie's breathing until it slows, and at that point, he finds that his own isn’t much far behind. Falling asleep beside Edward Kaspbrak-- if this was one of his dreams, it was one of the best ones he’s had in his life. The last thing he sees before closing his eyes is the contrast of Eddie's dark hair against his white, cluttered wall, and to that image, he dips into a rest better than one he’s had in a long time.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


End file.
